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ONE CHANCE ONLY

We live only once and most of my life has been a total waste. This is not a middle-age crisis digression. I have not lived. I’ve been only witnessing existence. Though I’m aware of this for a long time, I haven’t find a way of changing my way of living yet.

I suppose my frustrations are the same as everyone else’s, namely the lacking of love, intimacy and sex, all three connected in a relationship with someone not too demanding. I think this is the key for the all thing. People demand too much from each other, wasting their own and others’ lives with resentment and remorse. Demand should be replaced by acceptance, as long as abuse remains rejected.

It horrifies me the frustration I witness in most relationships and marriages. Such horror started with the divorce of my parents when I was a kid. I became obsessed with love, connection, and all fantasies about soulmates and their sexual fusion. This made me a hungry and scary animal, incapable of anything casual or any abusive commitment, and highly intolerant to the presentation of sex as a favor or gift from women to men. The idea of deserving the opening of her legs is extremely violent to me. Things only work for me when both do our best to feel horny all the time. This requires the effort to excell in all of the spectrum of a relationship, and a profound knowledge, respect and acceptance of the limitations of our companion.

No wonder I feel my life totally wasted. I should have learned to embrace much less than this and invest on hedonism. The thing is I don’t know how and I’m not getting younger. More, I’m afraid of the hedonistic approach being an absolute hell to me. I can’t get rid of my hunger for connection.

I feel my life is wasted because of the absence of connection. I’ve been connected a few times, but unrealistic demands, intolerance and abuse eroded everything. I grieve every day for these losses and long for someone who finally gets it, or who makes me get something else worth fighting for.

Meanwhile, life keeps getting wasted.

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LUCY BREAD

“I got bread!,” shouted a brute in high school while groping Lucy’s buttocks.

“You got toasted!,” she retorted, hitting him right in the eye with Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain.

This is Lucy Bread and the moment was magic indeed. Never more in her all entire life she would be a victim of abuse. The brute got blind, she was expelled for the first in a million times and in all of those she couldn’t care less. Expulsion, sacking and debt became natural in her life. A happy life, believe it or not.

Lucy Bread had the genius of being highly responsible without taking life too seriously. She had her moments of grief, as anybody, and let them go away. Sadness did not deserved to be clinged by her heart.

“I am leaving you,” howled her first husband, “and the kid goes with me. You better stop laughing!”

Smiling widely, Lucy Bread scanned the condescending dimwit expert on money making from crotch to eye.

“Do you really want to fight me, win me over? Are you sure?” When it came to stabbing her heart, Lucy Bread’s voice had the calm, persistence and reach of a deadly epidemic. “Are you really considering destroying your daughter’s childhood out of spite for her mother? Do you really want to drawn your money there?”

“You won’t have a chance!”

“Try me.”

He did. For years. Lucy kept on laughing, as well as her daughter. The kid learned from the best and her dimwit father had to realize no money could depress that woman.

“How can you do it?,” asked one friend at the job center. “How can you be so happy while living in tragedy?”

“Find me a better way to deal with it.”

“You’re a nut case,” said one lover. “Too bad I don’t have the balls to cope with such invulnerable joy.”

“People are taught to solemnly cry and suffer with dignity. I taught myself to let all tears pour fast and laugh it out when I’m done.”

“You’re on denial.”

“And you’re deaf. I just told you I get all the grief and mourning done in one blow. No more annoying and tedious sadness, believe it or not.”

“You should coach people.”

“I’m not that presumptuous. People don’t laugh because they’re chicken.”

The second husband of Lucy Bread had the maturity to make no judgment and learn from her. I’ve never seen a happier man. I envied him hard and my wife noticed that.

“Would you like me to be like her?”

“I would like to be like her,” was my digressive response. “We should all be like her.”

She gave me the glare of immediate divorce and I kept my mouth shut to the moment I widowed. I don’t know if I fell in love with Lucy Bread. I eat a loaf of bread in her honor every night and do my best not to care a thing.

Saturday, August 28th 2021